


Devotion One Shot

by lazylilking



Series: Devotion [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Possible other chapters, big shocker there, exploring character relations, marco's dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazylilking/pseuds/lazylilking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why should it matter?!” I couldn’t help screaming back, the ache of memories forcibly being shoved back to the surface ringing with my voice. “I don’t care if I’d been seventeen or seventy five when I lost him, Eren! He’s the love of my fucking li—“</p><p>“Was, Jean, was! And for the love of God his name was Marco,” He finally spat, his name ringing venomously from his tongue. “Marco got shot five fucking years ago and he fucking died and you can’t even say his fucking name let alone fucking let it go—“</p><p>“And why does it fucking matter?!” </p><p>“Because I don’t even get a chance!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion One Shot

**Author's Note:**

> (This is a one-shot that might spin off into more chapters IDK please enjoy)

“Jean, _Jean_.” His voice grew harsh, a sudden burst of insistence shaking me enough to pull my attention back towards his green eyes. I didn’t want to admit I was the reason the air had grown tense, having practically _thrown_ him off the couch when he’d leaned on me halfway through the shitty cable-edited movie. Silence mingled with shock from where he was splayed out, watching me dry-heave into my hand as waves of _wrongness_ rolled off of me with each choke of air. “Jean,” He’d finally called me back, “Jean, Jean— _stop_ —“

“Don’t touch me!” I practically yelled, hitting his hand away again and scrambling to my feet. “Don’t fucking _touch_ me, Eren—don’t make me do this—“

“You’re being unreasonable!” He finally screamed back. And I didn’t mean for the first time that night. Nearly three years of carefully-placed touches and quiet hopefulness blew threw him with the force of a train, and I wasn’t surprised when he threw his fists into my shirt and pulled me towards the couch again, eyes blazing into mine. “For chris’sakes, Jean—It’s been _how fucking long, now?_ Nearly five fucking years?! _You’re too young to be a fucking widow,_ Jean!” I grabbed his arms as he practically shook me, like he was trying to _beat_ his words into me. “I gave you time to grieve, I gave you time to heal, Hell, I even let you lock yourself up every fucking year for damn near a _week_ every fucking June and cleaned up every fucking bar brawl you’ve gotten your ass into and lied to Levi about why you were off drinking instead of _doing your fucking job_ and for what?! To be told _one more god-damned time_ that you’re _ruined forever?!”_ His voice had been rising steadily with each line, and by the last one he was shouting with every bit of lung he had. I couldn’t think around his words pushing themselves into my brain, and for one, terrified moment, I thought he was going to punch me out of sheer frustration. I think he was planning on it, but instead settled for tossing me back on my ass before straddling me in the low light and balling his fists in my shirt again.

“I don’t know if you missed the fucking memo, you fucking _twat_ , but you’re a trained killer, not some fucking sailor’s wife, doomed to spend all of eternity looking out over the sea and knowing no man will ever want you again!” He was still screaming, his eyes only inches from mine in the dark of our hotel room, the unfamiliar shapes of the furniture behind him looming, then seeming to recede as he finally pulled back, running both hands through his hair with a growl. “God, you have no _idea_ what it’s like, having to fucking tiptoe around you because you just _can’t let him go—_ “

“Why should it matter?!” I couldn’t help screaming back, the ache of memories forcibly being shoved back to the surface ringing with my voice. “I don’t care if I’d been seventeen or seventy five when I lost him, Eren! _He’s the love of my fucking li—“_

“Was, Jean, _was!_ And for the love of God his name was _Marco,”_ He finally spat, his name ringing venomously from his tongue. _“Marco_ got shot _five fucking years ago_ and he fucking _died_ and you can’t even say his fucking name let alone fucking _let it go—“_

_“And why does it fucking matter?!”_

_“Because I don’t even get a chance!”_

I stared at the man on top of me, too stunned stupid to even remember how to blink, the sudden confession hitting me just as hard as a blow. Eren stared back defiantly, challenging me to call him out, to push him away again, to hit him or scream or _react_. When I didn’t, he finally lowered his voice and leaned in, his breath warm against my own face and his body suddenly deflating with the weight of his words spilling out.

“…It’s not…” He swallowed, sighing once more. “It’s not like I expect you to suddenly jump in my arms, okay? I’m not asking that, I’m just… I’m…. shit, give me a minute, I need to say this right.”

“T-Take your time,” I breathe, still not sure how to react to this entire scenario. My everything still hurt from hearing his name again, the ever-constant ache flaring up in the chest Eren so casually rested his fist against for support. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before pulling away enough to see me properly, still pinned beneath him on a questionably clean hotel floor.

“It’s just that… I want a _chance_ , you know? I want to be able to _try_ to win you over, okay? I mean, fuck, we’ve been working together for like six, seven years now? Shit I know I’ve had a _thing_ for you for damn near as long, but back when you guys pulled me out of Katrina I saw you had that thing going with Marco and I respected that and I mean _I still do_ but….” Breathe in, breathe out. “I’m not asking for you to replace him. I’m asking for you to realize you’re still pretty young, you potentially have _years_ ahead of you and we’re going to be stuck together for a lot of them until our contracts end with Erwin and I would like to know I can try to fucking flirt and shit without you trying to beat the shit out of me because you think you have to stay fucking alone forever since the only guy you’ve ever been with isn’t here anymore. Okay?” I blinked slowly up at him. He bit his lip nervously. “I mean… okay?”

I blinked again, his words tossing around in my head. Seven years. Seven whole years of being interested in some bottle-blonde who pulled him out of a flooding town on a whim with a shitty outlook on life and a decent trigger finger. Two of those had been spent watching them fit perfectly against another boy’s side, unashamed with their public displays of affection and not so quiet with their nightly ventures. One single night of a communications mistake, of miscounting the guards they were supposed to take down, of a single bullet tearing apart everything in his world, and Eren having to handle not only losing one friend and comrade, but the aftermath that shattered my entire fucking mind and nearly two years of screaming nightmares and outbreaks of unwelcome tears and him being witness to every freaking moment.

Two years of letting me mourn. Three more of letting hope sink into his heart, slowly, one piece at a time. Maybe it was the small, everyday things that did it, too. It was every time we stayed in a one-bed hotel together since the group was on a budget, sprawling across mattresses together because it was more comfortable than the floor. It was every brush as we went about our days together, it was every long car ride when we agreed on the stations, every shitty food joint where we split the bill wordlessly, every time he heard my voice shakily acknowledge I was okay over the radio after pulling the trigger on some target or another.

It was every minute for seven years, staring at someone and wanting nothing more than a fucking _chance—_

“…Okay.” I whisper, jolting his attention away from biting his lip and back to me. I cleared my throat, slowly pushing myself up onto my elbows. “…okay. Look, I’m not… I’m not saying anything will come of it, but…”

“…but?”

“But you’re right.” I sighed, long and hard. “Look, he… _Marco_ , Damnit, there I said his name—he was my fucking _everything_. If it wasn’t for him I would have never had the guts to get us out of…” I trailed off, deciding that wasn’t a road I was ready to go down yet. No one knew about my past besides Levi, out of necessity, and despite the curious quirk in Eren’s eyebrow, I was going to keep it that way. “But he’s not here anymore, and I’m not going to get him back, no matter how celibate I stay.”

“…so, what you’re saying is…?” I tried not to smile at the almost hopeful tone to his voice, and found myself unable to.

“What I’m saying is… if you’re going to straddle me in some hotel, at least buy me dinner first.”

It was Eren’s turn to blink at me like a fucking dumbass, processing my normal, joking tone before pushing off with a laugh and holding out a hand.

“How does Waffle House sound? ‘Cause that’s about all I can afford right now.”

“You know I was pretty hopeful until I remembered you can’t find any this far north,” I grinned, letting him pull me up with a grunt. “You’re doing a _splendid_ job of winning my heart right now, you know.”

“Shuttup,” he laughed, flopping down with me on the couch in time to catch the last ten minutes of _Grease_ on the T.V. “I thought they had some on St. Louis by now!”

“No, no; that’s Krystal Burger.”

“No shit?” He casually leaned against me again, like he had when this all started. I felt his warm skin brush against my bare shoulder, and although there was an initial wave of panic… I didn’t pull away. He smiled a little brighter. “Ah-ha! The White Castle of the south has come to take claim of its rightful throne in the north!”

“Fuck you—White Castle forever.”

“No, no, no way. Krystal Burger is the _shit_.”

“…on second thought, I’m not sure this is gonna work after all.” His mild panic was enough to get me laughing for the first time in a while, before he realized I was basing that off of his taste in tiny-burger empires and tried to bash my brains in with a pillow. By the end of it both of us were laughing, the credits were just about over, and things had gone back to something semblancing normalcy between me and my partner.

Even if now when he spread out across me on the couch, fingers absently drawing circles on my chest until he fell asleep, I was okay with it.

Not perfect, but okay.

So maybe that was the best he could hope for in the end, and maybe that would be the best I could give him, but it was a start. It was something. It was better than it was before, for both of us.

Maybe in the end, things could work out.

Fucking maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr-- http://lazy-the-fandom.tumblr.com/


End file.
